Amadeus
by Penelope Louise
Summary: Post-ep Untouchable. Tony agrees to Ziva teaching him piano.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Well, I have been having an NCIS season 3 marathon! I noticed in 3x20 Untouchable that Ziva offered to teach Tony piano again, and it prompted a fic. Yay! I'm also beginning to think that this is the reason why the surveillance photos in 4x01 Shalom showed Tony being at Ziva's house. I bet she was teaching him piano :)**_

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Ziva sat at her desk, her pencil poised over her paper to sign off the accident report. She wasn't angry at herself, in Mossad it had been an accepted tactic, ramming a suspect's car wasn't a serious error. It wasn't encouraged, but no one complained. Well, except possibly the owner of the car but they soon got over it.

She was the only one left in the bullpen. Tony had dashed out as soon as Gibbs had let them leave and McGee followed shortly after.

"_Are you going, Officer David?" Gibbs asked expectantly._

"_I just need to finish off my report," Ziva answered, not meeting his eyes._

"_Okay then," Gibbs conceded that she wasn't going to be talkative. Ziva only looked up when the elevator doors shut, leaving her alone in the darkened bullpen, the only light was the miniscule amount emanating from her desk lamp._

Ziva had to admit, being at NCIS was a welcome break from Mossad. Oddly, she felt more at home in the foreign country than her homeland. Ziva realized that if she had to return to Israel, she would miss McGee, Tony, Gibbs and Abby.

The sharp _ding _of the elevator doors opening startled her out of her reverie.

"Tony," she exclaimed, slightly confused. "Why are you here?"

Tony shrugged. "I guess I could ask you the same question," he answered.

"I was finishing my report," Ziva retorted stonily and Tony rolled his eyes.

"For two hours?" he asked skeptically and she glared at him. He grinned. "Well, since you're still here, I may as well ask you it anyway."

"Ask me what?" Ziva questioned him suspiciously.

"Your offer, earlier," Tony began, "when we were surveying Roca."

He studied her expression carefully to see if she had any recollection of it at all but her face didn't change. After all, Tony supposed, she was trained to keep her expression neutral.

"About piano," he added nervously, "about teaching me?'

Ziva's mouth curved into a smile and Tony took it as a sign to keep going.

"I was wondering if you would. Teach me, I mean," Ziva had never seen Tony nervous, and she wondered why asking her to teach him piano made him worried.

"Of course," she smiled at him, "I would love to."

Tony looked massively relieved and Ziva continued.

"Would you like to have dinner tonight? Maybe I could teach you a little as well," she added and Tony smiled.

"Grazie mille," he grinned and she laughed.

"A lo davar," she replied as she grabbed her bag and swiftly signed her name on the report before locking it in the second drawer at her desk. She picked up her bag from where it was lying on the floor and removed her coat from the back of her chair, draping it over her arm.

"You'll be needing that," Tony advised and Ziva looked at him skeptically. "No, seriously, it's quite cool outside."

"I'll be fine," Ziva replied stubbornly and Tony shrugged.

"Suit yourself," he conceded as they headed towards the elevator together after Ziva had flicked the switch of her desk light to 'off.' They waited in silence for the elevator to arrive and when it did they still didn't say anything to each other. All conversation seemed to have left with the light from the desk lamp.

Tony moved out of the way for Ziva to go in first, and she smiled at him. For all his ogling of girls and his immature ways, he could be a gentleman when he wanted to. The doors closed on them and Ziva leaned against the cold steel wall as the elevator descended. Suddenly, the lights went out and the elevator stopped. She glared at Tony and tried to flick the switch back on but he had positioned himself right in her way and she simply found herself pressed up against him in a slightly provocative position.

"Tony," she growled, still attempting to reach the flip switch. The man blocking her way simply grinned at her. "Move!"

"Not until you tell me why you stayed in the bullpen until ten o'clock," Tony retorted and noted how Ziva stopped struggling against him.

"I had to finish my report," Ziva answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Tony raised one eyebrow.

"You finished it when I was there. It took you – what – five seconds? Not three hours," he reminded her. Ziva shrugged. She wasn't going to tell him why she was still there. She wasn't going to tell him who – or what – she was remembering. She would never, ever tell Tony about that fateful night in Gibbs' basement. Ever. Gibbs was the only one who knew and it was going to stay that way.

"Fine. I was debating about whether I should just go and hand in my notice and go back to Mossad or whether I should wait until they arrest and fire me for dangerous driving," Ziva replied, smiling innocently at Tony. He moved out of the way and she restarted the lift. She wasn't sure if Tony had simply accepted her answer or whether he truly believed her. She doubted that it was the latter.

The rest of the elevator ride was in silence and when they reached the parking lot Ziva began to head off to her own car.

"Ziva!" Tony called after her and she stopped and turned. "We're both going to your place, why don't we just take one car?"

"You hate my driving," Ziva answered as she walked back to him.

"I didn't say that I'd let you drive," Tony grinned as he plucked her car keys from her fingers, resulting in him being on the receiving end of a strong punch to the shoulder. He yelped in surprise. "Hey!"

Ziva grinned and tried to grab the keys but his height allowed him to hold them above her head, just out of her reach. Ziva jumped to grab the car keys but as she did Tony leaned backwards to keep the keys out of the way of her taking them back and as she fell back down she landed on him and they both tumbled to the ground.

"Why are you on top of me?" Tony asked, smirking. Ziva jabbed him in the stomach and he groaned.

"Give me the keys and I'll get up off you," Ziva informed him and he raised his eyebrows.

"I quite like it how we are," he said as he smirked. His grin faded. "Uh, hi Gibbs."

In the moment that Ziva took her eyes off him to see if it was Gibbs, Tony slid out from underneath her and ran over to her car, unlocking the driver's door and getting in to start the car. Ziva jumped up, annoyed at being so gullible.

Dejectedly, she opened the passenger door and sat down, shooting Tony a death glare.

"You just had to sign another accident report, sweetie," Tony smiled innocently, "there is no way that I am letting you anywhere near the wheel."

"Call me sweetie again," Ziva replied, "and you will find that wheel inserted where the sun-"

Tony accelerated away before she could finish her threat.

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A/N: Reviews would be awesome! Thank you!**_

_**By the way, 'grazie mille' means thank you very much in Italian, while 'a lo davar' means you're welcome in Hebrew.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Well, I finally got around to updating! This was supposed to be a two-shot but it got away with me. Oops. Enjoy!**_

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Tony parked the car in Ziva's own parking spot outside her apartment and stopped the engine. He didn't move to get of the car though, and glanced over at Ziva. She hadn't spoken throughout the journey and her expression was one of despondency and anguish. Tony wondered what she was reminiscing about.

"Ziva?" he said in a hushed tone; he didn't want to startle her too much. He knew that if he did she would become taciturn and uncommunicative, hiding her emotions once again. Ziva looked up at him, slightly stunned by the fact that she hadn't noticed that they had arrived at her apartment.

"Sorry," she apologized with a tight smile and turned away from his penetrating gaze. She felt translucent when he looked at her, as if he could see through her but her secrets hidden below the surface where slightly out of focus to him: he could see her mystery but he couldn't make out the details.

Ziva opened the car door and got out, the cool wind biting against the bare skin of her arms. Tony sighed – how long would it take for her to trust him? – and got out of the car and threw the keys to Ziva. He followed her into the apartment and closed the door gently behind them.

"Nice place," he commented politely, trying to make casual conversation to hide the awkward silence that had been building up. Ziva was hiding something from him – from everyone – and he planned to find out what it was, whether she wished for him to know or otherwise.

Ziva smiled at him. "Toda," she spoke quietly as if someone was still on her mind, troubling her. "Dinner first?"

"Whatever you would prefer," Tony shrugged indifferently and trailed Ziva to her light kitchen. He could tell that she cooked often – he knew she was a good cook, an excellent cook – and the cupboards were full of spices and also ingredients that she had brought with her from Israel.

"So, Master Chef, what are we cooking?" Tony grinned. She turned to him, one eyebrow raised in the international expression of skepticism.

"We?" she asked curiously. Last time, she had cooked before he came so they hadn't had the problem of one person lounging around on the couch while the other person did the cooking. It was times like these where Tony reminded her of Gibbs more than the immature person he pretended to be most of the time.

When Gibbs had visited her when she had offered him a dinner invitation he had offered to help her cook. Even though she had denied his assistance three times he had ignored her protests – like he usually did with anything – and helped her anyway. She had appreciated it, in the end.

"Would I sit on the couch and be left out?" Tony smirked and Ziva punched him in the shoulder lightly.

"Fine," she conceded, opening the cupboard and grabbing what she needed to make the Chicken Flautas she had planned on cooking for herself anyway. She put a pot full of water on the stove and set it to boil. She added the chicken and lowered the heat.

"Twenty minutes, right?" Tony grinned when she glared at him.

"Did you steal my recipe?" she asked suspiciously and he opened one of the cupboards and removed a battered journal-like book and waved it at her.

"I didn't steal it, I just read it," he grinned and she rolled her eyes. "It seems to be a favorite recipe of yours, these chicken flautas."

Ziva shrugged. "Maybe I just like Mexican food," she suggested and Tony chuckled.

Half an hour later, the pair sat down on the couch in Ziva's living room. Each had a plate of chicken flautas and a glass of wine. Ziva picked up a remote off the coffee table and hit the power button. Tony was expecting the television to turn on, but instead it was the radio.

"Really, Ziva? _El Zol?_" Tony asked skeptically. _El Zol _was a Spanish pop radio station and one of the last stations he would have expected Ziva to be listening to.

"I like some of the music, David Bisbal has a very good voice," Ziva was talking about a popular Spanish singer who Tony had vaguely heard of, but he hadn't heard any of the songs. "This is one of his now."

Tony listened to the song that was playing, which seemed to be called _Ave Maria _if the amount of times the phrase was sung was anything to go by.

"_Ave María, cuando serás mía, si me quisieras, todo te daría. Ave María, cuando serás mía, al mismo cielo, yo te llevaría_." Ziva sang along softly and Tony chuckled. She did have a very good voice, and although he teased her about singing – especially The Sound of Music – he did like listening to her singing. Her voice was… pleasing. He couldn't think of a perfect word to describe it, but pleasing worked well enough.

"I would have thought you'd be listening to classical music," Tony teased her and she glared at him as she took a sip of the Chilean Pinot Noir that she had opened for the occasion.

"So you know what music I like?" Ziva asked, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Tony smiled.

"You seem like a classical sort of girl," he grinned. "Although you do have a… affliction for musical theatre."

"You do not like musical theatre?" Ziva questioned. Tony could tell form her grin that she knew what music he liked: knowing her she'd probably read through his iPod and memorized the track names in the first read.

"Some musical theatre," he conceded and she rolled her eyes, eating her chicken and waiting for him to expand on his sentence. "Phantom of the Opera's good."

Ziva laughed.

"Seriously?" she smiled at him and he leaned forward to her. Her eyes questioned his motives but he simply removed a drop of the sauce from her bottom lip.

"Seriously," he answered, with a small smile.

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A/N: Reviews would be awesome! Thanks!**_


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